The farmer was a ruddy-faced Milesian,
who wore a drab frieze coat, with a velvet collar, buff waistcoat,
corduroy small-clothes, and top-boots* well greased from the tops
down. He was not only an agriculturist, but a grazier--remarkable for
shrewdness and good sense, generally attended fairs and markets, and
brought three or four large droves of fat cattle to England every year.
From his fob hung the brass chain and almost rusty key of a watch, which
he kept certainly more for use than ornament.
* This in almost every instance, is the dress of
wealthy Irish farmer.
"A little sup o' this," said he, "won't take your life," approaching
Jemmy with a bottle of as good poteen as ever escaped the eye of an
exciseman; "it'll refresh you--for you're tired, or I wouldn't offer
it, by rason that one bint on what you're bint on, oughtn't to be makin'
freedoms wid the same dhrink. But there's a time for everything, an'
there's a time for this.--Thank you, agra," he added, in reply to Jemmy,
who had drunk his health. "Now, don't be frettin'--but make yourself as
aisy as if you were at your own father's hearth. You'll have everything
to your heart's contint for this night; the carts are goin' in to the
market to-morrow airly--you can sit upon them, an' maybe you'll get
somethin' more nor you expect: sure the Lord has given it to me, an' why
wouldn't I share it wid them that wants it more nor I do?"
The lad's heart yearned to the generous farmer, for he felt that his
kindness had the stamp of truth and sincerity upon it.
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